The last two senior citizens I've spent substantial time with have been incessantly flatulent.
I wouldn't say incontinence is a perk, but it must be nice to be so old that you get away with passing gas so freely and frequently that it's no different than breathing.
I'm having a conversation with one of them and she's like, "My husband was [FART] diagnosed with liver cancer and [FART] just six months later he was [FARRTTTTTTTTTT] dead."
It's like, forgive me for being distracted during such a serious story, but it can be difficult to follow when your butt is louder than your mouth.
I don't fault these seniors for something that is undoubtedly beyond their control, but it is a real test for me to not react at all. If you can't control your bowels, how am I expected to control my laughter? All of my life I've been taught to giggle at a fart. But now, their constant wind-breaking is the big brown elephant in the room. I don't think I could repeatedly toot that loudly and have the chutzpah to act as if it never happened. Maybe that in itself is a reason to respect the elderly.
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